


Other People Were Too Sentimental

by skoosiepants



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would be <i>nice</i>, what would be fucking <i>fantastic</i>, is if Kevin would stop mistaking Mike for his girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other People Were Too Sentimental

**Author's Note:**

> For the sodamnskippy Valentine’s Day challenge; my prompt was letter kisses and flowers. This is the first fandom thing I’ve written in a long, long while, so please forgive the lameness and brevity while I try and get back into a grove. Title comes from TMBG’s _Another First Kiss_.

Mike glares down at the small origami rose, slightly mashed from being shoved in between the vents of his locker. This is getting fucking ridiculous. “You’d think eventually he’d realize he’s got the wrong fucking locker,” Mike says. Dani’s is next to Mike’s; once is an accident, five times is like: _maybe this kid’s a moron._  
  
“What’s this one say?” Bill says gleefully, looming up behind him.  
  
Mike shrugs. They all say _xoxo—Kevin_.   
  
“Have you thought of the possibility,” Bill says, pressing a long finger to his bottom lip, “that maybe these _are_ for you?”  
  
Mike cuts his glare from the crumpled rose to Bill.  
  
Bill grins. “Oh, come on. It’s _Kevin Jonas_ , he’s adorable, I know you’ve secretly wanted into his pants ever since he spilled that soda all over you and you threatened to punch his teeth in if he didn’t stop trying to wipe you down.”  
  
“Bill,” Mike says, pained. His chest had been soaked; he really hadn’t needed Kevin rubbing his nipples, thanks. Kevin Jonas is a menace. Mike only kind of wants to get into his pants.  
  
It doesn’t matter, though. Kevin has been dating Dani since the dawn of time, he’s pretty sure they’re going to get married and have millions of dimpled, dark-haired babies the second they graduate next year.  
  
What would be _nice_ , what would be fucking _fantastic_ , is if Kevin would stop mistaking Mike for his girlfriend.  
  
*  
  
“Gay chicken,” Butcher says.  
  
Mike arches his eyebrows. He doesn’t see what Siska and Butcher’s homoerotic heterosexual relationship has to do with his problem with Kevin.  
  
Siska says, “Yes, dude, gay chicken his ass.”  
  
Bill says, “You can’t use gay chicken as a verb,” because sometimes Bill is smart and dumb at the same time.  
  
Mike frowns. He thinks that any game of gay chicken he plays with Kevin Jonas will end up being more humiliating for him than anything else. He’s pretty sure Kevin wouldn’t even know what he was doing, and if he did, he’d get his righteous, god-fearing parents to smite him, and smite him good. Besides, everyone knows Mike’s bi; gay chicken only works with unknown variables and straight douchewads.  
  
Chiz says, “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” He points at Mike. “Just tell him he’s got the wrong locker, poof, problem goes away.”  
  
The thing is, it’s embarrassing. Mike doesn’t really _want_ to tell Kevin he’s got the wrong locker. Letting him know after it happens once is acceptable. Waiting to tell him until after five times is almost like holding up a big neon sign that says: _maybe I secretly want into your pants_.  
  
He’s never telling anyone that he has all the roses stashed in a shoebox under his bed.  
  
*  
  
Mike has known Kevin, in the vaguest sense of the word, since eighth grade. Mike has known Kevin for four years, and in all that time Kevin has barely said more than ‘hi,’ ‘ _tengo gusto de gatos_ ,’ and ‘oh my god, you’re soaked, I can see your nipples’ to him. That last one had been a doozy. Bill had laughed so hard he’d nearly thrown up.  
  
So Mike isn’t shy, but he’s not going to voluntarily talk to a guy who can barely look at him without turning bright red, wide-eyed, and slightly terrified. Mike _had_ threatened him, but, look, he’s not going to punch anyone’s teeth in, Mike has it on good authority – Chiz’s – that that’s very hard to do.   
  
Dani, on the other hand, has had the locker next to Mike’s since freshman year. She enjoys telling him about her dogs. Mike does a lot of nodding, making non-committal noises, and not really listening. Dani’s nice and sweet and has big boobs; Bill likes to lean against Mike’s locker and leer comically at her. Mike wouldn’t like her, except she always tells Bill to fuck off in the most polite ways possible, and that shit’s just funny to watch.  
  
Currently, Dani is staring at the side of his head. Mike can feel it.  
  
Mike yanks his jacket out of his locker, slams it shut, then whirls on her with an admittedly too defensive, “ _What?_ ” He can’t help it.  
  
Dani smiles. It’d be a smirk on anyone else. “Nothing,” she says.  
  
Mike rolls his eyes. That’s the fucking stupidest passive-aggressive way to say _I know something you don’t_ , and Mike would tell her that if he actually wanted to know what she knows.  
  
One, Mike doesn’t fucking care about her dogs, seriously.  
  
Two, Mike cares too fucking much about Kevin. He doesn’t want to gossip about boys – he’s bi, not a girl.  
  
“Sure,” Mike says, then starts walking away.  
  
“Hey, _Carden_ ,” Dani calls after him, but Mike just waves a hand without looking back.  
  
*  
  
“Fuck me,” Mike says when he opens his locker the next morning and finds _yet another rose_.  
  
“Oh, lookee,” Bill says, “he colored this one red.”  
  
Mike doesn’t have rage blackouts, he’s not Patrick Stump, but he’s getting dangerously close. He can feel a vein in his forehead pulsing with every anger-filled thump of his heart.   
  
“He’s stepping up his game,” Bill says, and Mike has to will himself very hard not to punch Bill in the throat.  
  
The tag on this rose says _can we talk? xoxo—Kevin_ , and Bill says, “See that. Why would he ask Dani to talk? They’re always talking,” and Mike doesn’t know and he doesn’t care and it’s none of his business, anyway.  
  
This one he just throws into the trash.  
  
*  
  
“Bill’s right,” Siska says at lunch.  
  
“You should never tell Bill he’s right,” Mike says. That just leads to disaster. Or songs about aardvarks.   
  
“He wants to talk. He wouldn’t tell Dani he wanted to talk,” Siska says.  
  
Chiz says, “Unless they had a fight,” because Chiz is the voice of reason, thank you, Chiz. Until he adds, “But I really think you’re being stupid about this.”  
  
“Fuck you very much, too,” Mike says. He hates all his friends.  
  
And he would fucking _love_ to talk about this for the whole of lunch, he really would—sometimes life calls for a strategic retreat that is in no way cowardly, Butcher, keep your carefully non-judgmental face to yourself, you’re not fooling anyone.  
  
*  
  
He catches Kevin at it, next time. He’s waiting on purpose that afternoon, wants to actually _see_ him get this wrong again. Maybe then Mike’ll stop being so hung up on the way Kevin bites his bottom lip when he takes notes in class; he probably does it when he’s folding paper, too.  
  
He watches Kevin slink up past Dani’s locker. He watches him drum his fingers over Mike’s, a sly little smile on his face, and that’s it. That’s Mike’s breaking point; he doesn’t know what’s going on, but fuck if he’s going to find out.  
  
“Jonas,” Mike says, walking toward him with his fists clenched at his sides.  
  
Kevin jumps, startled, dropping the paper rose on the ground. “Um. Hi?”  
  
Mike looms up close, glaring, and Kevin just says, “Hi,” again, with a stupid little wave, like he wasn’t about to shimmy a lame romantic gesture for his girlfriend into Mike’s locker.  
  
“Are you—” Mike shakes his head, starts over. “Do you honestly not know what you’re doing?”   
  
“I—what?” Kevin cocks his head like a little lost poodle and Mike’s torn between grabbing a fist full of his hair, dragging him into what he _clearly_ doesn’t know he’s asking for, and sucker-punching him in the stomach.  
  
“Oh, fuck this,” Mike says, and goes for the riskier option, shoving Kevin up against the bank of lockers and kissing him.  
  
Kevin flails, words mangled between them as Mike pretty much attacks his face.  
  
It isn’t a nice kiss. It’s Mike pushing all his frustration into Kevin’s mouth, teeth clashing, a bitter laugh in the back of his throat, because Kevin is gripping Mike’s hips and wriggling and—and it takes an embarrassing amount of time for Mike to realize that Kevin _isn’t fighting him anymore_ , holy shit, he’s arching closer and those sounds—those sounds definitely aren’t coming from Mike, he wants that stated for the record: Kevin Jonas is making cat-in-heat noises. That should be more disturbing than it actually is.  
  
Mike wants to shove his hand down the front of Kevin’s pants, he wants to curl it around Kevin’s dick, bring him off in the middle of the hallway, and he wants to do it because it’d be hot as fuck, but also because he’s still really fucking angry.  
  
He pulls his mouth away and tilts their foreheads together and says, “Jesus Christ, Jonas.”  
  
He snakes a hand down to Kevin’s ass and squeezes, just to hear that squeak-moan again. Kevin melts into him, relaxes like this is all he’s wanted, and that just doesn’t compute.  
  
“So you’re into cheating on Dani now,” Mike says, moving back just far enough to look into Kevin’s flushed face.  
  
“Um.” Kevin’s eyes are a glazed with confusion. “What?”  
  
Mike hates himself a little. He wants to not care, but he does. He wants it to not matter, but Mike isn’t that much of an asshole.  
  
“Yeah, okay, see you later, Jonas,” Mike says, then walks away.  
  
*  
  
The next morning, Mike doesn’t find a rose in his locker. He doesn’t bother telling himself he’s relieved—he’s not that good a liar.   
  
“Huh,” Bill says.  
  
Mike nods. “Yeah. They were a mistake.”  
  
“Really?” Bill says, skeptical.   
  
“Well, you know. I told him they were a mistake.” Basically. That’s basically what he did. With his tongue.  
  
Dani slams her locker shut next to them and says, “You’re such an asshole, Carden,” before stalking off down the hallway, and Mike totally doesn’t get it— _he’s_ not the asshole here. He’s not the one who cheated on his girlfriend. Sure, Mike had started it, but he’d fully expected Kevin to flip out.  
  
Bill pokes him in the back and says, “She would know.”  
  
Mike growls and says, “So I kissed her boyfriend, whatever.”  
  
“You—” Bill laughs. “You did, didn’t you? That’s _fantastic_.”  
  
“Right.” Mike doesn’t think it’s that funny. Or at all.  
  
Bill hangs all over his shoulders. In between giggles he says, “We have to tell the Butcher.”  
  
*  
  
“It wasn’t gay chicken,” Mike says. It can’t be gay chicken if you really mean it. At least, he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t tell any of them that Kevin had kissed him back.  
  
“Well, either way, Kevin looks absolutely _tragic_ , you don’t think she dumped him, do you?” Bill says.  
  
Across the cafeteria, Kevin is sad-eyed, absently playing with his spoon. It’s possible, Mike thinks, and refuses to feel a little thrill at that. But then Dani swoops in and drops down next to Kevin and gives him a one-armed hug, so that theory seems unlikely.  
  
“Weird,” Siska says.  
  
Mike stares at them and tries not to feel sorry for himself, and then Dani glances up and gives him a death-glare. She says something to Kevin, and Kevin shakes his head and keeps his gaze on his pudding, and Mike is hit with a sudden and overwhelming revelation. He’s been so stupid.  
  
“I _am_ an asshole,” he says, still staring at Kevin and Dani.  
  
“Right, mate,” Chiz says, clapping him on the shoulder.  
  
“It wasn’t gay chicken, was it?” he hears Siska say, and Bill says, “You know, I really don’t think it was.”  
  
*  
  
There’s no easy way to fix it. Mostly because Dani won’t let Mike near Kevin, and when Dani isn’t there, his two younger brothers are. Mike isn’t exactly scared of them, but the littler one wears sweater-vests and Joe has entirely too many teeth when he smiles.  
  
So what Mike does is—he gets out the shoebox full of origami, drives his dad’s car over to Kevin’s house, and climbs in his window. He’s kind of noisy popping out the screen; he’s really surprised Kevin doesn’t wake up.   
  
Kevin is sprawled on his stomach, starfished and open-mouth snoring. It’s kind of stupidly adorable, something in Mike’s chest clenches up.   
  
He sits next to him on the bed and says, “Jonas,” pushing at his shoulder.  
  
Kevin grumbles, smacks his lips, and rolls over onto his back.  
  
“Kevin,” Mike says. He reaches over and turns his bedside table lamp on.   
  
Kevin’s eyes slit open and a goofy smile slips across his mouth. He rubs his palms over his face and yawns and says, “What?”  
  
Mike says, “Kevin,” again—he’s not really sure Kevin is registering who’s in his room.  
  
“Mike?” He blinks his eyes open wider and leverages up onto his elbows. “What are you—” He frowns. “You broke into my house.”  
  
“Yep.” Mike waits until Kevin is sitting all the way up in bed before shoving the box into his hands. “Here.”  
  
Kevin slowly opens the lid, like he’s afraid Mike’s hidden some sort of poisonous viper or honey badger inside. And then his mouth goes soft in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he says. He carefully lifts out a flower. “You kept them.”  
  
Mike nods. He says, “I thought you were dating Dani.”  
  
“I—” Kevin tilts his head. “We—for, like, a month. In ninth grade. Until she figured out I liked boys.” He drops the flower back in the box, then grips the edges of it with tight fingers. “So you—” He cuts himself off, and Mike gives him, “Really like you,” because he figures Kevin deserves that, even though it makes Mike sound like a fourteen-year-old girl.  
  
“Oh,” Kevin says.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Kevin bites his lip. He says, “Good?” like he’s not sure this isn’t just one big joke.  
  
Mike doesn’t really blame him.  
  
“I hope so,” Mike says, and then he fists his hand in Kevin’s t-shirt and reels him in for a kiss. A nice, chaste kiss, despite being in Kevin’s bed, because Mike’s not gonna make another move until Kevin says so. He doesn’t want to get this wrong, this time.  
  
“Okay,” Kevin says, afterwards, a little dazed.  
  
Mike gets up and moves toward the window and says, “See you tomorrow.”  
  
*  
  
Mike doesn’t find a rose in his locker the next morning. Which is fine. They’re working things out.  
  
Bill sneaks up behind him and pulls him into some weird, octopus bro-hug and they both stare into Mike’s rose-lacking locker.  
  
“So it didn’t go well,” Bill says.  
  
“It went fine,” Mike says. He doesn’t need a rose to tell him that.   
  
“Right,” Bill says, like he doesn’t believe him.  
  
Mike shrugs him off, disgruntled.  
  
Next to them, Dani clears her throat and says, “Just so you know, I will rip out your throat if you make him cry again.” She gives him a sweet, sharp-edged grin that has Mike fighting the urge to cover his junk.  
  
Bill melts into the lockers and sighs. “What I wouldn’t do to have your bosom pressed against mine,” he says, holding a hand to his chest.  
  
Dani says dryly, “No, thank you, William, I think I’ll pass.”  
  
*  
  
“So, um—”  
  
Mike looks up from his lunch tray to see Kevin hovering in front of him, red-faced and awkward. “Hey.”  
  
Kevin bobs his head. He swipes at the curls fall over his forehead and his lips twitch up at the corners and Mike kicks the chair out across from him, gesturing for Kevin to sit.  
  
“Hi,” Kevin says, breathy, as he drops down into the chair. “I made you this.”  
  
Mike takes the flower Kevin pushes at him – it’s perfect, no weird creases from getting stuffed into his locker, just straight, neat edges. Mike toys with it, rubs the thin, college-ruled paper between his fingers. “Thanks,” he says, voice a little thick, and it’s like—Mike isn’t a sap or anything, but apparently he’s got a romantic soul. Stupid, fucking origami roses.  
  
Siska snickers.  
  
Bill’s humming _Bella Notte_ under his breath, because he’s a jerkwad.  
  
Mike clears his throat and says, “Thanks,” again.  
  
*  
  
Mike waits for Kevin at his locker at the end of the day. He zips up his jacket and shoves his hands in to the front pockets of his jeans and leans back against the door to the janitor closet.  
  
Kevin doesn’t seem surprised to see him, but his face does kind of light up.  
  
Mike’s seen that smile aimed at him before. It’s a _you’re the end of my rainbow_ smile that is both ridiculous and flattering. In retrospect, Mike really doesn’t know how he missed this. “You are not a subtle guy,” he says.  
  
Kevin says, “I didn’t think so, no.” He bounces on the balls of his feet, still grinning like Mike is the best thing he’s ever seen ever. There are tiny crinkles at the corners on his eyes. There’s some kind of stupid bandana tied around his head, like he’s an old west Karate Kid, and Mike wants to rip it off him and bury his hands in his dark curls – as a fantasy, it’s pretty lame.  
  
He also wants to blow him, though, and see how far down that flush goes; see how noisy he can really be. Mike has plans – nasty, filthy plans, it’s Kevin’s fault, no one should look that good in white pants - he just has to make sure Kevin is still on board.  
  
Mike reaches out and slips a hand over Kevin’s hip, scrunches his shirt up a little so he can get at bare skin. He says, “You can drive me home,” because Kevin has a pretty cool car, and Mike usually just catches a ride with Bill or Butcher.  
  
Kevin’s eyes are wide and dark and he nods yes, tugging at Mike’s wrist until Mike is no longer dangerously close to palming his ass, but threading their fingers together, holding hands.  
  
Kevin is probably going to make him work for it, is the thing, but Mike kind of thinks that’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> * _tengo gusto de gatos_ \- babelfish says this means ‘I like cats’; I have no idea, my years of Spanish are useless.


End file.
